Driving Me Mad (7 page)

“Then why are you here?” My
voice comes out a little snappier than I intended, but it doesn’t
faze Trace.

“Because I was worried. Are
you up for sneaking me out of here and coming back to my place? I
want to talk to you, but if I have to spend another second in this
bed, my body is going to hate me worse tomorrow than it’s already
planning to.”

Guilt for worrying him and
for being the reason he’s in this cramped bed with me causes me to
nod.

“Thank God.” He releases his
hold on me to get out of bed. Rebecca is asleep in her bed. “Once I
counted your sleeping pills and figured out you probably only took
one, she was satisfied enough that you would be fine. Still had to
convince her to go to sleep,” Trace says.

The alarm clock says it’s
three A.M. Without thinking about the implications of what it
means, I grab my coat, put on my shoes, and pack a change of
clothes, my toothbrush, and my neglected phone. Trace stands
anxiously by the door, shifting his weight and glancing between me
and it. I hope that we can get out of here without any trouble. I’d
hate to put his job on the line because I caused him to worry about
me.

I open the door and peer out.
The hallway is quiet and empty. Trace takes my hand and I lead us
out of the building and into the safety of the outdoors.

“Sweet fuck,” Trace curses as
the cold assaults us. Even worse, we have to walk across campus to
where his car is parked. I try to walk faster on the sidewalk, but
Trace tugs on my hand to slow me down. “Careful; I don’t want you
to slip on a patch of ice.”

As soon as he says it, I feel
my foot slip a little. We make it to his car without incident,
though. That’s when Trace decides to start talking. Maybe because
my only escape would be to jump out of a moving car.

“So, you took a sleeping
pill? Just one like I thought?” Somehow, he manages to ask the
question gently, without accusation or judgment.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say,
shrugging it off.

“It was only four in the
afternoon when Rebecca texted me.” My body tenses as I wait for him
to continue his lecture. “I’m assuming you had a panic attack and
just wanted to make it all stop for a while, and I get that, but
that’s not the way to do it, Brittany.”

I wince a little at hearing
him call me by my full name. “I won’t do it again,” I promise. I
mean it, too. I don’t want to make it a habit of misusing my
medications. That’s exactly what I did. “Sorry. Must be a little
hard not to go full therapist on me right now.”

“It’s harder for me to hold
back and not tell you how stupid it was because I care about you,
not because I’m an uninvolved third party. The last thing you need
to add on top of the anxiety attacks is drug abuse, because that’s
what it is. I just...it scares me to think you’d even do it once.
If you’ll do it once, you’ll be tempted to do it again.”

“Doesn’t mean I will do it
again. I know it was dumb, and I don’t want to make it a habit, so
I won’t.”

He nods as he parks in his
driveway. “I believe you.”

We walk inside, Trace turning
on lights as we do. He walks into the kitchen, offering something
to drink. I decline, but he grabs a Sun Drop for himself. That’s
when I really notice his eyes. The guilt sits a little heavier in
my stomach.

“Have you slept at all?”

“No. I haven’t been tired;
it’s fine.”

I fold my arms over my chest.
“It is not fine. You need sleep. Now. We can talk in the morning.”
When he opens his mouth to object, I take the soda, set it on the
counter, and then take his hand. He seems so stunned that his mouth
closes. I turn off the lights and go to his bedroom. I’m not sure
if I’ll sleep in here or his guest room or on his couch. I kind of
want him to decide. I place Trace in front of his dresser. “Get
your pajamas and go change.”

That seems to snap him out of
it. He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”

I watch as he opens his
drawers and retrieves his clothes. I glance around the room. His
bed is a huge California King, which makes sense; he’s so tall. It
looks really comfy.

Trace clears his throat once
the pjs are in his hands, bringing my attention back to him. “You
can sleep in here. I can sleep wherever you’d rather I be.”

“I’ve already shared a bed
with you once tonight. Might as well do it again,” I say.
Surprisingly, I’m actually tired. I might be more nervous had I not
woken with Trace and if I thought I wouldn’t fall right to
sleep.

Trace nods with a smile and
then disappears into his bathroom. I leave for the guest bathroom,
brushing my teeth while I’m in there, and still manage to make it
back and into his bed before he walks out. He falters for a moment
when he sees me lying in his bed. I opted for the side opposite of
the nightstand. When he gets in after turning off the light,
there’s plenty of space between us. I’m in the center of the right
side, not too far away and not too close in case he wishes for some
distance.

There’s silence for only a
second before I feel his warm hand on my hip as he says, “I’ve
already held you once tonight. Might as well do it again.”

A smile pops onto my face. I
scoot closer until my head is resting on Trace’s arm, his other is
draped over my waist, and only an inch or two between us. “I
panicked over seeing a new therapist,” I blurt out. “I know I need
to see someone, but you’re the only one I’ve had and you were
really good. I couldn’t stop thinking about what if she sucks or I
don’t like her, things like that. Her being late didn’t help.”

“Sorry; she forgot she had an
appointment. Are you going to reschedule it? I think you’ll like
Mrs. Rumley. She’s sweet, and everyone in the department highly
respects her.”

“I’ll reschedule.” I pause,
it hitting me that he’s met Rebecca. “So, how’d it go with
Rebecca?”

Trace laughs. “She’s funny.
She cares and worries about you a lot.” A beat of silence. “We both
do, Britt.” Then he sighs, which confuses me a little. “Let’s
sleep. I’m exhausted.”

I close my eyes, the corners
of my lips tipping up when he tugs me closer. They lift higher when
he presses a sweet, gentle kiss to my forehead.

***

“
T
race. Trace.
Trace.
” A hard pinch to my side causes my eyes to fly open.
“Do you always have a death-grip on things in your sleep?” Brittany
asks. My arms are indeed locked around her. “I’ve been trying to
escape for an hour.”

“Sorry.” I let her go, and
she rolls away from me, getting up and heading toward the bathroom.
Turning, I sprawl on my stomach and try to sleep some more. I don’t
know what time it is and I don’t care. It’s Saturday and I have no
plans. Unfortunately, sleep isn’t going to come again. I roll over
just in time to see her walk out of the bathroom. She looks as if
she’s run her fingers through her hair. What throws me off kilter
is the smile on her face. “You’re smiling.”

“You have a crazy case of
bedhead. It’s cute.” She shrugs.

“Want some breakfast?”

Her smile falters. “Not
really hungry.”

“Want to lie in bed a bit
longer?”

She nods, coming over to get
back in. She lies next to me on her back with her head turned
toward me. “So, am I hanging out with you today?”

“If you want to.”

“Okay.” Brittany looks up at
the ceiling, closing her eyes tightly.

I notice her hands moving
under the covers to rest on her stomach, and I suspect she’s
squeezing her wrist. Her eyes pop open when I reach across, uncurl
her fingers from around her wrist, and interlock them with mine,
resting them on my stomach. “Normal stuff or something
specific?”

“Normal. It’s not too bad,
though it’s going up a little since you’re taking away my comfort.”
She squeezes my hand to make her point.

“I’ll be your comfort.” I
squeeze her hand back.

She smiles, but remains
silent. We lie there for about ten minutes before I realize we need
to get up. If we don’t, we’ll be here for most of the day. It’s
already noon.

“C’mon, Britt,” I say softly.
“Come watch me cook. I’m thinking we go with pizza instead of
breakfast food?”

She laughs. “What am I going
to do? Watch you watch the pizza cook in the oven? And since when
is pizza not breakfast food?”

I grin. “You may just be the
perfect girl.”

Her morning anxiety seems to
fade as the pizza cooks, but she’s still kind of quiet once we
start eating.

“Want to know a secret?” I
ask.

“Sure.”

“When I was younger, I wanted
to be a comedian.” Brittany bursts out laughing, and it’s tough to
hold back a smile. “What?”

“You tell horrible jokes,
Trace! Do you remember when you tried to cheer me up that one time?
The best joke you could come up with was the knock-knock joke about
the banana and orange! And it took you like two minutes to think of
that one to tell me!” She holds her side as she laughs. “There’s no
way you could ever be a comedian.” She picks up her slice of pizza
and takes a bite, still giggling under her breath.

I smile, really happy to see
her laughing and eating. “Okay, so maybe it was a far-fetched
dream. Your turn to tell me a secret,” I tell her before taking a
bite of my own.

“Hmm,” she ponders. Brittany
smiles as she lays a hand on my thigh and leans towards me. “That
knock-knock joke actually made me feel better.”

Chuckling, mostly to distract
myself from the heat of her hand, I say, “Your secret can’t
piggy-back off of mine. Tell me another.”

She removes her hand and eats
more while she thinks. Brittany has done a ton of growing up since
she left for college. There’s a confidence, intelligence, and
maturity to her beauty. Her black hair is wavy and hangs to
mid-back. Her dark brown eyes complement her pink lips that widen
into such a beautiful smile. She could kill with a smile like
that.

Brittany catches me watching
her and giggles. “You probably know almost all of my secrets.”

She could be onto something
there. “Then tell me a normal, everyday type of thing about you
that I wouldn’t know.”

She thinks for a bit and
settles on, “I love fried pickles. Like, they should be an entrée,
not an appetizer because that’s how much I love them.”

“They are good,” I agree.
“What else?” Maybe she’ll eat more if she’s doing more talking and
less thinking.

“Well,” she moves her feet
from under the table, drawing my attention to the one red sock and
one black one. “My socks are always mismatched because it’s a waste
of time and energy to match them. My preferred drink is Sun Drop,
but if I’m forced to pick something else, I’ll go with sweet tea. I
can re-watch episodes or movies a million times and never get tired
of them. My favorite Christmas movie is
How the Grinch Stole
Christmas
. And even though cold and snow suck, winter is my
favorite season.” She takes a deep breath. “Your turn.”

I figured this was coming, so
I already have mine ready. “Most people think that because I’m so
tall and fit that I was an athlete. I couldn’t play any sport if my
life depended on it. I’m just bad at it. I love old country music.
Even when I was little, I loved listening to it with my grandpa. I
got a black lab for Christmas when I turned ten and his name was
Johnny Cash. I can’t dance unless it’s a slow dance.
Dateline
is my favorite TV show. I can always predict what
happened or who done it, but I like watching it all unfold. If I
had to choose one food to eat for the rest of my life, it would be
pizza. I have it for dinner once or twice a week.” I pause and
finish with, “I can’t think of anything else off the top of my
head.”

She looks surprised. “You
really aren’t athletic at all?”

I laugh. “Not even a little.
My dad signed me up for every sport available and I failed
miserably at them all. He was disappointed at first, but he got
over it.”